To win a one hundred dollar bet, Cody Williams attends a Halloween party dressed as a Sexy School Girl. Halloween's over -- but returning to his pre-Jack-o-lantern life . . . proves to be scary and another kind of gamble!

Halloween Holdover
By Rasufelle and Angela Rasch

Chapter One
There’s Got to Be a Morning After

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” A voice from Real Life sounded annoyed, which wasn’t a possibility in my too-good-to-be-true dream world.

Despite my efforts, I seemed to be sinking -- further into the water. I redoubled my kicks and strokes, broke the surface. . .and then saw a grinning shark circling in a familiar room . . . that isn’t my own!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I screamed in a perfect falsetto, while I flailed in panic. I shouldn’t be here! I thought. I might get David in trouble!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” That howl from behind me was pitched two octaves below mine, in perfect harmony with the large protrusion that was gently probing my backside.

Opening my eyes in the morning is like swimming up from the bottom of a deep pool, with sacks of sand tied to my ankles.

Transitioning from wherever I’m at to fully aware takes time and can be traumatic.

I didn’t want to leave the kind of dream you always want -- doing something fun and sexy with someone wonderful. I didn’t see the person’s face – but knew it was that perfect somebody.

Those are special dreams for us virgins!

The blankets began to shift beneath me. The air from under my silk shirt pushed a cloud of flowery scent – coming from my perfumed body.

Silk? Perfumed body?

“AAAAAGH!” I squeaked. When I had fronted for our band, people said I sounded like a girl. I’d love to be able to make a living singing, but the confusion my voice caused seemingly disturbed some of our fans. David, Jorge, and I put aside our instruments and started doing mundane adult things that put food on our tables.

I slid sideways off the bed -- narrowly avoiding the corner of his nightstand -- twisting to land on my ass rather than my face.

After stopping for a second to congratulate myself on “sticking the landing” I quickly surveyed the room.

My buddy, David, pulled blankets around himself and scowled, while an amused figure stood in his doorway, with her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t mean to scare you two.”

“Really, Mom?” David asked sourly.

David is nice to everyone, but there’s something about his mom that sets him off.

His face seems to be fighting to remain sweet and inviting. It’s as easy to love as an Adele song.

“It’s time you get up for breakfast,” David's mom explained, giving us an I-know-what-you've-been-up-to look. “Be sure you're decent before coming down.” She didn't wait for an answer, leaving both of us trying to pry our hearts out of our throats.

What did she mean by “decent?”

I looked at David, again.

He had thrown off his covers -- and was laying there in his black TENTED boxers, groaning.

His decidedly indecent dick is as long as a big 'ol hunk of crisp bacon.

Having noticed his stiffy, I looked down at myself. “AAAAAAAAH!” I screamed.

“AAAAAAAAAH!” David screamed back. “What is it!?”

“I'm wearing girls’ clothes!” I whisper-hissed at him from the floor, pulling my knees together. “Do you think your mom noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Noticed me in these clothes, and you hugging me in a death grip. . .that’s ‘what.’”

He shook his head slowly. “It’s the day after Halloween. She can put two-and-two together.”

“Or, in Mother World, she can add two and two, double the sum, and arrive at Crazy Eight.”

I closed my eyes and thought of the hundreds of thousands of times my father had jumped to wrong conclusions and punished me for non-existent crimes.

“Maggie isn’t stupid. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

“She saw my panties!” I hissed again. Standing -- I quickly straightened my skirt and top. “Well. . .technically. . .she saw your sister’s panties.”

“Oh. . .,” he said, regaining his composure a lot quicker than I had. “. . .she’s seen Emma’s panties plenty of times over the last nineteen years.” He grinned. “Well – it’s not like she saw anything just now, right?”

“I. . .I mean. . ..” I strained for something witty, but could only manage, “Fuck you!”

I groaned and longed for the utter happiness I’d found in my dream, but I’d already lost the thread of the content.

“Would you rather you had a massive schlong staring my mom in the face?”

Poof! Whatever fragment of pink dreamworld had survived his mom’s stare had blown-up when confronted by a mental image of my incongruent genitals.

He winced. “Sorry, Cody. Hand me the aspirin, would ya?”

I grabbed the bottle off his nightstand and took two pills for myself, before tossing the rest his way. Now that our panic was over, my head throbbed -- the consequences of the prior night's fun. I'd taken it easy, but I've always been a lightweight. It never took much alcohol to make me slightly drunk -- or to regret it the next day.

“Shirley Temples hittin' you harder than you expected?” David asked, with a chuckle.

I gave him a one-finger response. “I was watching a documentary on Netflix. Did you know that when hoodstas say ‘aspirin’ -- they’re actually talking about putting a bullet in someone’s head?”

“Ouch! Appropriate for how I feel.” He chuckled. “Look on the bright side; at least you still look hot.”

Hot! I took a look in the mirror on his closet door, planning to argue, but after catching my reflection, the words died before reaching my lips.

My skirt and blouse are wrinkled, and my pigtails and makeup have suffered wear, but I still looked every bit the Sexy School Girl.

Emma’s right. Not having a noticeable Adam’s Apple makes my neck look feminine. And – this is one time that not having a beard is a big plus. David always manages to have three days’ worth of hunky stubble. It takes me three weeks to grow noticeable fuzz.

“As long as I’m going to get caught in bed with you, I would prefer Mom to see me with someone sexy.” He chuckled. “I’ve got my pride, ya know!”

I’m not sure being “sexy” is something for me to be proud of! However – when David said I looked “hot” – I liked it.

Watching him crawl out of the bed, another thought sprang to mind. “Where the hell are your clothes?!” I growled; a bit louder than I'd intended.

My hands flew to my clenching ass, working their way under my skirt to feel my panties. I wasn't sure what worried me more: the possibility we might have been drunk enough to Do Something -- or having damaged -- or even soiled -- Emma’s clothes.

David didn’t even suppress his laugh, while he watched me flounder. “Ease up, would ya? Your chastity is intact. My pants are probably on the bathroom floor. I think I remember getting up to piss, a while ago.”

“So, we didn't. . .?” I asked shyly.

David blushed. “Ah, no, I don't think. . .no. God no! Although -- I’ve got to say that sister of mine did a helluva job on you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief -- and then remembered the total package I’d seen in the mirror, last night, after his sister had prepared me.

He smirked. “After I drank a beer or two, it was freaking hard to think of you as a guy.”

“I’m a guy!”

“You don’t look like one.”

David had said something lewd about my “fuckability” just before he passed out, last night.

“It was quite a night,” I deflected -- not wanting to make him feel weird.

“Did you . . . ? Ya know. Did ya want to?” He asked in a disappointed whisper.

“What?!” I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat again at his unexpected and totally fucked up question. “No! Why would you even ask?”

Panic dissolved into terror – into confusion, while I pondered what I really did want.

“Okay! Okay. Quiet down. Oooh!” He grabbed his head; the alcohol residue clearly was hitting him worse than me.

I watched him stretch and admired the coarse dark hair that covered his body. Why did I let Emma talk me into shaving the fuzz off me? How will I explain to people about my bare arms and legs?

“Oh gee!” I stammered. “I need to get home to walk Rex and feed him. He has anxiety issues when I’m not there.”

“Relax,” David ordered. “You told me last night that Jorge promised to take care of your dog this morning, in exchange for you doing his laundry.”

I smiled broadly, in relief. “Jorge’s a good roommate. Rex and he are buds. I was planning to sleep in this morning. . .in my own bed . . . and enjoy my well-deserved day off.”

I crossed my smooth arms, adjusting them under my tits for more comfort, and then glared at him. Then I glanced down, and blushed. “Uh, maybe you should go to the bathroom and. . .ah. . .pee, or something.”

“Huh?” He glanced down and grinned, apparently noticing me staring at his woodie. “Oh. Yeah.” Without another word he climbed off his bed and sauntered out the door.

How can anyone put so much confidence into the way they move?

I studiously tried my best to avoid another glance at the morning wood David was packing in his shorts. Did I drink too much? Just what the fuck had happened last night? Did we “for real” kiss? Did I touch him . . . down there? Anything’s possible. I don’t think I’m gay. . .but I’m not a homophobe, either.

The door closed softly behind him -- isolating me with my perplexing thoughts.

That pounding is my heart. I’m very afraid of what I might be feeling.

My heart stopped completely when someone knocked, followed by a feminine “Hey!” that I recognized.

This time it was relief that flooded my system instead of adrenaline. I opened the door to the grinning face of the person responsible for my current predicament. “Morning, Emma,” I said, taking a step back as she pushed her way in and gave me a thorough once-over.

“I'm surprised to see you’re still dressed. I assumed from my brother's disgusting turgid state that the two of you. . ..” she stopped, gave me a disparaging stare, and then made the universal finger-in-fist gesture for. . .!

I let out a frustrated murmur. “Aargh!”

Her face broke into another big grin, and then she giggled. “When Mom told me breakfast was ready, she asked me if I knew anything about David's ‘new girlfriend.’ Imagine my surprise and distinct pleasure, to find out it's y’all!”

I shook my head. “Yeah, well, if you'd been home like you said, *then* this wouldn'ta happened.”

“So, it's my fault you wound up in bed with my brother. . .is it?” She sneered in mock anger. “Excuse me for having a life! Why do you nerds even have phones that work after midnight? You’re just wasting bandwidth.”

I grinned. Emma has a boyfriend she’s trying to dump. He’s my age, which she thinks is “Too fucking old.” The big problem is he’s boring. He always takes her to the same three restaurants, and he always orders a Caesar salad. She’s looking for someone less predictable.

“Maybe I won't help you change, if you’re so unhappy with me,” she teased.

The wave of terror that engulfed me snapped me back to attention. “Please, Emma. I most definitely need. . .and beg you. . .for your help!”

“You sure do need me, Babe. Grab your purse and follow. We'll get you looking appropriately for the day.” Her goofy smile returned. “Unless you wanna try and wear some of David's clothes and *really* do the walk-of-shame thing right.”

Shaking my head, I grabbed the black sling purse with all my stuff in it off the nightstand and followed her back to her room.

She knows full well that due to our seven-inch height and eighty-pound weight differences there’s nothing David owns I can hope to wear – without drowning in it. XXL looks like crap on S.

As soon as her door closed, I immediately began stripping, starting with the tie and blouse.

“Regular go-getter, ain't ya?” Her face couldn’t’ve been more self-satisfied.

She had been surprisingly eager when she dressed me last night and was compounding that by being overly pleased with my current predicament. The Fletchers are too good-looking for their own good. They get away with doing shitty things. I glanced at her alarm clock radio. “If I hurry, David can give me a ride home before he heads to class. The sooner I'm in my own clothes -- the sooner I can get back to Planet Reality.”

“I'm not so sure your morning's going that direction,” Emma argued, handing me a pile of soft, sleek, and brightly colored clothes that were decidedly Not Mine.

“Emma? What’s the deal?” I asked skeptically.

She giggled. “You're David's girlfriend this morning, remember? Or -- do you want Mom to know it was ‘Cody Williams’ she saw snuggling with her son in bed?”

I gasped. “We weren't ‘snuggling!’” I argued. But. . .we had been “snuggling.” David’s arm had pinned me to him, and I still can feel the impression his arousal made on my ass.

Am I gay? I can’t deny “it” felt good! I also can’t deny my dream.

I took a closer look at the clothes she'd handed me. “What’s your plan? Is this another costume?”

She smiled. “I bought these things yesterday for a job interview on campus. You’ll look cute in them. And, more importantly -- Mom’s never seen them.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I could rewind the clock to before I agreed to that stupid bet and created this nightmare.

“There’s no time to waste,” she cautioned. “Keep both pairs of panties on but take off the padded bra.” She moved my things from the purse I'd used the night before -- back into the small messenger bag I usually carried, along with the clothes I'd worn to their house the night before. “I'll fix your face and hair once you're dressed.”

I wanted to argue, but Emma's determined glare made me think better of questioning her leadership. The faster I’m dressed and out of here -- the sooner I’ll be home, changed, and done with this whole disaster. Then I’ll have time to think.

I unclasped the black padded bra I was wearing and tossed it on her bed, leaving me standing in the nude colored “longline” bra she'd made me wear under it “to help give me shape.” Despite her having just told me to keep on both pairs of panties, I slipped out of the black pair that matched the discarded bra. That left me in the nude ones that matched the bra I still wore and earned me a disapproving glance from Emma.

“Two pairs will help you stay flat.”

“Your butt is nicer than mine; and I don’t want a flat ass. And nobody will be looking at my crotch, anyway.” I slid the pants up my legs and frowned. “These are too short.”

“They're capris on me. On you, short stack, they're more like gauchos. And you fill the backside of those pants better than you think.”

Short stack? Everyone in David's family is tall, and it's not like my five-eight is tiny or anything. David was listed as 6’3” on the varsity basketball roster. Emma’s two inches taller than me. Both of them are corn-fed mini-giants.

I turned sideways and checked the mirror on her closet door. “Yeah, well, I have a desk job and don’t get to work out as much as. . ..”

“You’re shaped like a pear,” she said, cutting me off. “Your bottom makes me drool.”

“Whatever,” I countered, turning away from the disturbingly curvy shape of my butt in the soft, sleek pants, to focus on the top. I started wrapping the white Thing she’d handed to me around my waist, messing with the ties to hold the left side in, and then wrapping the right side over and buttoning it.

The young lady emerging in Emma’s mirror looks like someone David would sleep with. Am I someone who wants David to sleep with me? I shuddered

“Do I not need bigger boobs for this?” I studied my reflection’s profile critically.

“Nah, you're not exactly stacked, but you're mushy enough the bra you’re wearing gives the right shape already. Plus, the way that top opens up someone might see you were wearing two bras and wonder.”

I nodded. “Yeah.” Then I grinned “Thankfully, I won't be wearing a bra long enough for that to happen. Shoes?”

“Girls always worry about their shoes.” She smiled wisely and handed me the pair of black flats I’d worn a few hours ago and had just now taken off to pull on my pants.

Last night, I was surprised that Emma and I wear the same shoe size, but today, it just seems convenient. “Thanks. Where were you last night, anyway?”

She smiled, grabbed her hairbrush, and then unceremoniously removed the ties holding my pigtails. “You two weren't the only ones with a party to go to! I got home just after 3:00, and David's Camry was already here. I figured he'd dropped you at home or something. Bad night?”

“Ah, no. I don't think so?” I fought not to shake my head as she brushed my hair. “The party at Stan's was a dud, so we left and went to David's frat party.”

“He took you to his frat party?! Holy crap! He must’ve thought you looked *good*.”

I smiled, remembering that David had proudly introduced me as his “date” -- to dozens of people.

“I thought you looked really attractive, but it’s nice to know someone else thought you were beautiful.” She went on. “He wouldn’t have taken you to his frat party, if he didn’t think you were eye-candy. Ever since he became a grad student, he walks around his fraternity like he owns the place.”

“He’s confident!” I giggled and blushed, remembering how quickly we’d adopted the roles of two lovers out for a night on campus. There had even been some goofy fake kisses. Just fooling around. . .but actual kisses! “It was just a place to go. The party was in the back room of a night club. Not at his fraternity house. We had some drinks, and then hung out for a while. We danced with a few people.” I shrugged. “It was fun, but David was getting kinda fucked up. He gets like that when he mixes wine, beer, and cocktails. I took his keys and drove us back here at, like, midnight -- I think?”

“You old people just can't party.” She grabbed a towel out of her laundry basket and wrapped it around my neck. “Shoulda done your makeup first,” she lamented while she grabbed some wipes and attacked my face. “So, did everyone love your costume?”

I grinned through pinched cheeks. “Stan didn't know what to think at first, but he paid up,” I said triumphantly. “Your half of the money's in my wallet.”

“Sweet! And what about at the frat party?”

I shrugged. “Nobody said much. I was one of seven Sexy School Girls there.”

“How many were guys?”

“None of the Sexy School Girls were guys,” I explained.

“Except you.”

“Oh. . .yeah.”

She started to giggle.

“What?” I asked – getting annoyed.

“I think 'Sexy' is over-the-top a bit. Definitely ‘cute,’ though. I'm surprised they let you in the door. You look to be on the jail bait side of sixteen.”

“They carded me,” I agreed with a frown, remembering the raised eyebrows, when the bouncer saw my license. “The nob at the door said he had a cousin like me. He said that one day his cousin was ‘Kent’ and the next day she was ‘Keisha.’”

“Everyone knows someone. Pout your lips.”

I did as she had asked, and then felt the now familiar slickness of gloss being applied.

“There – you’re back to awesomeness. Those Mary Jane ballet flats you wore last night look great with this outfit. Done!” She stepped back and let me see myself in the mirror, again.

I’m just as surprised at what I see now as I was at my initial transformation, last night.

The way the wrap top Thing grips my midsection makes me look slimmer there than I am. The slightly oversized pants flare enough on my hips and ass to give a definite curve.

She’s right about my shape up top, too. I hardly fill the bra to capacity, but enough flesh is pushed around and up so the cups aren't collapsed. There’s enough to swell the upper portion of the blouse . . . alluringly.

Gone are the pig tails. Instead of my normal ponytail she had parted my hair to the side and brushed it straight down, clipping it back with a barrette on the side opposite the part.

My makeup is more subtle than last night’s -- but still does something that makes my too-big blue eyes pop even more, and my mouth seem poutier.

I'd gone from “Sexy School Girl” -- or I guess “Cute School Girl,” if Emma was to be believed -- to “Classy Secretary” in a matter of twenty minutes.

“There’s no time to teach you how to walk in heels,” she complained. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?”

She grinned. “I’ve got a feelin’. You just never know. You’re just so. . .pretty. It’s a shame you hide it.”

Emma spritzed me with perfume -- before I could duck.

“Hey,” I complained. “Why did ya do that?”

“Your scent needed a boost. Mom’ s going to be giving you a real inspection. You’re the first girl who’s ever fucked David in his bedroom.”

“We didn’t do anything,” I argued and bit my lip.

“Fuck” is such an ugly word – especially coming out of the mouth of someone as nice as Emma. If David and I ever do anything I hope we “Make Love.” But. . .nope. Never gonna happen.

“I know you’re frustrated. Better luck with David, next time,” she teased. “When Mom looks at you, your scent will confuse her – giving you a better chance to appear to be all girl in her eyes.”

I picked up the bottle Emma had sprayed me with and read the label. “Victoria’s Secret – Body Mist. Perfume with notes of Lavender and Vanilla. It does smell nice.”

“I’ll bet David thought so a few minutes ago, judging by how his penis was pushing out his shorts on his way to the bathroom.” She giggled.

I cringed.

“GIRLS, BREAKFAST!” Mrs. Fletcher's words bellowed up the stairs.

“Damn! Get on down there and impress ‘em, I'll be along in a second.” Emma hung my bag over my shoulder and pushed me out her door.

I’m screwed!

Chapter Two
When Are You Gonna Come Down?

I trudged downstairs into the little hallway that separated their living room from the kitchen and dining room. I hesitated at the corner -- and just for a moment considered dashing on by and making my escape.

I’ve never been so scared!

I can call an Uber.

No, I can’t.

If I leave, I’ll be abandoning David and Emma to talk to their folks about the whole situation, with no help from me. That wouldn’t be fair.

I can't do that. Emma has been nothing but helpful and it isn't her fault I was wearing girl's clothes when I woke up . . . or David's.

Okay, it wasn't *entirely* their fault.

With a heavy heart I peered around the corner.

David was already at the table, a t-shirt thrown on above his boxers, and his mom and dad were sipping their coffee.

I’d be willing to bet all the money I won last night that there aren’t fifteen other young men between here and St. Louis who look as good as David, while sitting in their underwear, eating breakfast.

Although we’ve been friends for years, David and I only infrequently spent time at each other’s home. Maybe neither of them will figure out who I am.

David's Mom, Mrs. Fletcher, looks a lot like Emma, but with laugh lines around her eyes and a more motherly figure. Mr. Fletcher looks like I imagine David will in another twenty years, salt and pepper but with the same smile and the same spark of something intense in his eyes. Mrs. Fletcher is dressed casual-nice, while Mr. Fletcher has on an oxford shirt and tie, both making me feel overdressed.

David's mom was the first to spot me, her eyes going wide before settling into a warm smile. “Well -- don't you look pretty! Come, put your purse down, and have a seat. Doesn't she look nice, boys?”

“Very nice,” Mr. Fletcher said, barely glancing up from his plate at first, then taking a second, longer look before grinning awkwardly and going back to his breakfast.

I must look okay. He looks like he misses holding onto a newspaper. His hands are lost, and I’ll bet he thinks he’s too old to spend time on a phone.

David tore his attention away from his food. His mouth dropped open, and half a piece of bacon dangled from his lips for a creepy second. “Uhmmmm. Holy shit you look good!”

I bit my lip while a grateful shudder racked my body.

“David! Manners!” Mrs. Fletcher said, smacking him on the shoulder.

That seemed to bring him back to the present. He gave me an embarrassed smile before blushing. His fork was suspended halfway between his plate and mouth.

“You'll have to forgive him,” Mrs. Fletcher said kindly. “You're the first girlfriend he's ever brought home. Turkey bacon and eggs?”

“Ah, please, Mrs. Fletcher,” I said, taking a seat next to David, which seemed to make him blush, again. “Thank you.”

I wonder if, for the rest of my life, when someone says “bacon” - I’ll think of David’s hard-on this morning.

“Please, call me ‘Maggie,’” she directed, grinning broadly. She then smacked David on the shoulder, again. “Well, Honey, aren't you going to fix your girlfriend a plate?”

Girlfriend!?!?

“Huh? Oh, uh, sure?” David looked at me like I had grown a third -- but beautiful -- eye. He moved quickly to serve me.

“Reach in the icebox, David,” Mrs. Fletcher directed. “Get yer girl a tall glass of O.J.”

“I can get my own,” I offered, rising at the same time he did.

Mrs. Fletcher -- Maggie -- waved me back down. “Nonsense. Let the boy take care of you; it's the second-best thing they do,” she said conspiratorially. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you biscuits and gravy ‘cuz we’re all out of milk and turkey sausage. Now, let me get a look at you.”

I sat there uncomfortably for several seconds while Mrs. Fletcher gave me a visual third degree.

Emma had predicted that right. Mrs. Fletcher is making me feel like a frog in a high school biology lab. Let’s hope my perfume clouds her mind. Surely she'll know!

I could never call her “Maggie.” She must think I’m cheap. She’s only being a protective mom.

I’m a young lady! . . . If I believe, she will too.

I returned her stare, mindful of keeping a smile on my lips.

Mr. Fletcher looks to be ten years older than her. They’re probably the same age and she’s put him through a wringer.

She pursed her lips. “You remind me of someone.”

Oh-oh. She’s on to me! A bead of sweat rolled down my back.

“Do you know David's friend ‘Cody?’” She accused.

My heart thumped hard enough to make my bra creak.

A spoon clattered onto the plate held by David.

“Aheh, aah, yeah. He's my. . .ah. . .cousin.” Lying isn’t really my thing.

“Cousin?” She asked, her eyes twinkling. “Well, I guess that explains the startling resemblance -- and how y’all met?”

“Yeah?” I agreed enthusiastically.

“Great! Cody's a good boy.” She smiled. “But . . . if I didn't know better. . ..”

“Breakfast!” David choked out, dropping a plate in front of me with a “thunk” that sent eggs and bacon bits scattering across the table -- garnering a scowl from his mom.

Mrs. Fletcher shook a finger at her son. “We raised you better than that.” She turned another bright smile my way. “By the way, what's your name, dear? David should have introduced us, before, when you were in his . . . bed.”

I closed my eyes and tried to be brilliant “Ah, Co . . . Courtney?”

“Courtney? You say that like you’re not sure.” She laughed lightly.

‘Courtney,” I repeated. “Courtney Anne Williams. My father and Cody’s father are brothers.” Maybe lying is my thing?

“Cody and Courtney,” she mused. “Do all yer kin give their children a name that starts with a ‘C?’”

I nodded vigorously. “My mother’s name is ‘Karen.’”

“Honey, that normally starts with a ‘K.’” Her forehead wrinkled.

“No,” I insisted. “C-A-R-R-I-O-N.” I mentally slapped my forehead. I just labeled my fictional mother dead meat.

“Very nice,” Mrs. Fletcher accepted, then looked down at my plate. “Please, eat. Don’t let your food get cold. We can chat more after.”

I shoveled a fork full of eggs into my mouth just to make sure nothing else embarrassing spilled out.

Emma made her way down the stairs to the kitchen, dressed similarly to her mom in a casual skirt and top. “'Mornin' Mom. . .Dad!”

She always looks great, but today she’s prettier than ever. What’s with me. One minute I’m gazing at David’s cock, the next thing you know I’m fascinated by Emma’s tits.

“Good to see you down for breakfast, Honey! Have you met ‘Courtney?’” Mrs. Fletcher asked. She’d timed “Courtney” just as I'd almost swallowed a mouthful of water.

“Ack!” I choked.

“Are you okay, dear?” Mrs. Fletcher asked with concern.

“Fine, ah, fine,” I sputtered.

Emma giggled as she walked past us toward the counter. “Courtney? Yeah, David introduced us last night. She borrowed one of my old school uniforms. Looked cute in it, too.”

“I know!” David’s mom gushed. “She was still wearing it this morning when I caught those two love birds spooning.”

What? Love birds? We absolutely weren't spooning! Although. . ..

“Hah! Yeah, that's my fault,” Emma said. “David and . . . Courtney . . . came back home before I did. Her clothes were in my room -- and she didn’t think it would be right to go into my room without me. She fell asleep. I came home around 12:30 and the two of them were already out. David under the covers and Courtney on top. They looked so comfy I didn’t want to disturb them.”

Mrs. Fletcher laughed. “If it had been me -- I'd have just slept in my panties and bra.” She turned to David and me. “Or, haven’t you two gone that far, yet?”

“MOM!” David bristled. “Courtney isn’t that kind of girl.”

David’s thinking of me as a girl! Maybe his girl?

“What?” She asked, giving her son an innocent look. “You're twenty-three years old, Honey. That's the same age I was when I had you, you know, and you certainly weren't an immaculate conception.”

“MOM!” David squeaked in a register I didn't even know he could reach.

Mr. Fletcher chuckled around a mouthful of eggs, giving me an amused wink when he caught me looking his way.

He appears to be trying to change his skin color to blend in with their seafoam tablecloth.

“You know, David,” Mrs. Fletcher said, “it’s getting to be high time for me to be a grandmother.”

David sighed and shook his head.

“Oh, or is it. . .?” She gave me a concerned look. “You're not underage, are you?” She turned toward David. “I won’t be party to statutory rape.”

“No? I'm, ah. . .,” I flustered. “There’s been no rape. We're the same age,” I assured, locking my attention back on her. “Wait . . . there’s been no . . . anything!”

“Oh! How lucky!” She clapped her hands together happily. “It's like it's meant to be.”

Someone should check her coffee to see if it’s been spiked.

“Mom, she's not. . ..” David started.

“Oh, are you Jewish?” Mrs. Fletcher suddenly asked.

“What?!” I managed.

“You’re so pretty with your honey-blonde hair and dark complexion. When I look at you I think ‘Jewish.’ Well, David's half-Jewish on his father's side of the family. I just thought how much his grandmother would love it if. . ..”

“Mom, will you stop!?” David pleaded.

The Fletchers go to that Baptist mega-church in Plano, with 20,000 other devout worshippers of material wealth. They’re definitely not Jewish! But they’re eating Kosher. . .at least their bacon.

Bacon! Mmmmmmmm!

“I’m only trying to help,” she said innocently, and then turned toward me. “David is a sweet young man with a bright future. He could be considered a catch. . .I suppose . . . but . . . he’s socially a bit backward.”

“Mom,” David said coldly.

The look Mrs. Fletcher gave her son was something between a warning and eternal damnation.

Mr. Fletcher's attention was now fully off his breakfast. He watched his wife and son glare each other down. His expression could have been amusement . . . or caution.

I'd seen that look on his face once before, right before he had to break up David and Emma, during an argument several years ago -- over who should get a new phone first.

Thankfully, my phone chose that moment to ring. Dua Lipa's “Levitating” did an excellent job of disrupting the growing tension in the air. Come on, dance with me.

I gave Mrs. Fetcher an apologetic shrug. However, I didn't seek her permission before pressing the answer button the moment I saw “work” on the screen. “Hey, what's up?”

“Cody? You’re not drunk or horribly hung over, are you?” A stressed female begged.

I winced, hoping nobody at the table had heard my name. “Um, no to the first, only a tiny bit to the second?”

“Yes! At last, a bit of luck!” She exhaled, obviously relieved. “This is Katie.”

That much I'd already figured out.

“Amanda called in this morning with a 103 temp. Hopefully it’s not Covid. We can't get hold of Violet. I know you requested today off – and I approved it, but is there any way you can come in and man the desk?”

Man?!? The front desk? I’m not feeling very “manly.”

I looked around the table and gulped. “Ah, I don't really know. . .. I’m meeting David’s parents and. . ..”

“You’ve met them before. They were at your birthday party. I chatted with David’s mom about Sudoku. Anyway -- Cody, we’ve got a huge meeting -- later today. We just can’t look like we’re running half-staffed. I’m going to be up to my eyeballs with contract negotiations. This is the biggest meeting we’ve had this year . . . maybe ever. No -- definitely ever.”

“But you approved my. . ..”

“I’ll pay you double time,” Katie offered.

“I'll be there as soon as I can.” I would have gone in, just to help out, but if they want to pay me double time, I’m not going to turn it down. I can use the money.

“Perfect. Thank you *so much* for this. I've got too much to do to handle the phones and arrivals – on top of my own work.”

“No problem, Katie. See you soon.”

I clicked off and turned to my hosts with as disappointed a smile as I could manage. “That was work. They've asked me to come in, today.” I gave David a hopeful look. “Do you think you can drive me there before your class?” I asked, silently hoping he'd understand that by “there” I meant my home -- rather than my place of work.

He gave me a look in return that told me he Got It. “Yeah, sure! I'll go get dressed and we can leave right away.”

He was already half-way out of his seat when his mom's hand grabbed him.

“No sir!” She barked. “You two -- finish your breakfast. Courtney and I haven’t gotten to know each other, yet!”

David threw me a worried glance. “Mom, if we don’t leave right away, I'll be late for class.”

“No, you won't!” Mrs. Fletcher stated. “Your girlfriend wouldn’t want you to be late to school. Where’s yer work, Courtney?”

“Ah, the Skylar building? Jacobs’ eCommerce.” The truth can’t hurt, this time.

She raised both hands in a halleluiah. “Well, there we are! I was going into town today anyway, and that's on the way for me -- but it’s the opposite direction from UT-Dallas campus. It’s like fate stepped in. Easy peasy.”

“But. . .,” David started.

“Umm. . .,” I said at the same time.

“Eat quickly!” Mrs. Fletcher commanded, with a Forceful Voice of Momness.

So, of course, I shut up and ate, feeding what I could to the knots in my stomach and chest.

What the Hell am I going to do? More importantly, am I David’s girlfriend?

David went to get ready.

I gave Emma a last desperate look while I helped her clear the table.

All she did was toss me a helpless shrug of her own.

She has classes this morning, too. She’ll ride with her brother. No help there.

Mrs. Fletcher managed to derail my train of thought with another logjam of embarrassment. “David, aren't you going to give your girlfriend a kiss before running off?”

“Huh?” I snapped around from where I had been placing rinsed plates in their dishwasher. My stomach gave an extra half-twist to churn what I’d just eaten.

“What?!” His face turned bright scarlet. He was standing by the door, obviously ready to leave – and giving both me and his mom a look of absolute horror.

“She spent the night with you; she deserves that much -- don't ya think?” His mother persisted.

“I don't think. . ..” I started, but Mrs. Fletcher had already given me a little shove, just enough to start me inching toward her son.

I guess seeing the writing on the wall, David entered the kitchen again and walked up to me, staring down into my eyes with the same nerves I felt. His face blotted out the light behind him.

I’m not short... but seven inches is seven inches. I looked up into his eyes as he came closer.

I couldn't help but feel the difference every one of those inches made. Next to him I’m petite. I closed my eyes and braced myself.

He gave me a peck!

It was a small, delicate thing, on my forehead, and not on my lips. But his soft lips had more than grazed me, causing a spark to jump through my body.

That wasn’t a pretend kiss, like the ones I remember from last night.

While he drew back I could see how heavily his breathing had become.

I felt that same weight in my chest. What am I doing?

“See ya later, C-Courtney,” he told me, in almost a whisper, and then turned around and hurried out before his Cupid/mom could push for more.

I stood there, my heart hammering, unable to parse just what the hell was going on.

Emma lit out behind David, escaping the war zone during an apparent cease fire.

“So sweet,” Mrs. Fletcher said, towering over me in her heels. Her arm wrapped around my shoulders and jolted me out of my stupor. “Next time, hold out for a kiss on the lips, though.”

“I. . .ah. . .okay?” I agreed without thinking, flushing even more at the thought of such a kiss that would make me. . ..

“Good girl. You ready to go? Y’all can freshen your make-up in my Volvo.”

I nodded silently, while grabbing my things and following her. I surreptitiously checked my purse. Emma had slipped in a tube of lip gloss, along with other kinds of make-up and a vial of perfume.

Fletchers think of everything!

Mrs. Fletcher gave me a motherly look as she turned the key. The engine hummed in the Texas autumn air. “Do you have anywhere you need to stop -- before I take you to work, Sweetie?”

“I . . .umm.” I paused.

This is my chance. The last time Mrs. Fletcher drove me anywhere, I was about fourteen and living with my parents. So, if I have her drive me to my current place, that shouldn't raise any suspicions, right?

But why would I ask her to do that? I looked down at myself, still wearing the secretary-ish outfit Emma had handed me and had to admit that what I had on was entirely appropriate work attire. . .for the girls at the office.

If I were a girl.

And what will be the play once we get to my place, anyway? Work is a twenty-minute walk from home. If I accepted a ride home -- but not to work, how would that look? And if she stays to give me a ride after I change, then how’ll I explain Courtney going into my building -- but Cody walking out?

I’m still having trouble believing she hasn't picked up on anything, yet, but after talking to me and David about our love life and urging us to kiss . . ..

Fuck me!

“No, ma'am, just straight to work please.” I told her, hoping my terror didn't show in my voice. I’ll explain things to Katie. She'll understand me needing an hour to go get changed. It’s my only option.

“You sure?” Mrs. Fletcher asked, seemingly surprised by my answer.

“Yeah? Just. . .straight to work is fine.”

She gave me another one of her playful, confusing smiles. “If you're sure, Honey. We'll be there in a jiff.”

“I can't wait,” I said, as cheerfully as I could manage, forcing a smile I absolutely didn't feel, while the turkey bacon in my belly commenced to gobble.

Chapter Three
It's Enough to Drive You Crazy If You Let It

The ride to work was awkward, but far from silent. It seemed that Mrs. Fletcher had taken quite an interest in the “girl” she thought had captured her son's attention. I found myself answering more questions, more truthfully than I really would have preferred.

She wanted to know my preferences on everything female. Favorite dress designer? Most fun nail color? Sexiest perfume I own? Do I want children?

As nerve-wracking as the experience was for me, Mrs. Fletcher seemed to be having a fine time. The smile on her face grew, when I seemed to answer her questions in ways that satisfied her. Sometimes she even giggled, which bewildered me.

“Oh, you’re as sweet as all git out and pretty as a pup. David could do a lot worse, that's for sure.”

“Thanks????”

“I mean it. Oh, I can’t deny it’s strange. Seeing you in bed with David this morning was a painful eye-opening experience that nearly ended me. But you’re truly a unique person that can make him happy. Bless his heart!”

Finally, after fifteen agonizing minutes that seemed to include hitting every red light between the Fletcher’s house and the Skylar building, we pulled up to the curb.

“Have a great day at work, Honey.” She grinned, and then reached over and rearranged a hair that she deemed out of place.

“Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher.” I fought to undo my seat belt. “I'll try.”

“Honey, if you need any ‘womanly’ advice, y’all just ask. You’re like a daughter to me. . .now. This *can* work if we all try our hardest!”

I gave her one last bewildered wave -- then hopped out of her car, headed for the doors, and rode up the elevator in a confused cloud. The butterflies in my stomach complained about the elevator's motion.

When I stepped off on my floor, Katie sat waiting at the front desk.

She did a double take when I approached. Then she frowned . . . deeply. “Halloween is over, Mr. Williams,” she said, in her “I'm the boss” voice, though I could see the twitch in her cheeks that told me she was fighting not to laugh.

“I know, and I can explain. I just need to. . ..”

The elevator dinged behind me.

“COURTNEY!”

I winced and turned around to see Mrs. Fletcher approaching from the elevator, holding my messenger bag in the air above her head.

“You left this in my car, Sweetie. A girl can't forget her purse!”

“Right.” I meekly accepted my bag and cringed at the giggles I heard my supervisor try to contain. “Thank you, ma'am.”

Mrs. Fletcher gave me a hug. “Oh -- Honey, I told you to call me ‘Maggie.’ After all, David did kiss you right in front of me not thirty minutes ago. We're practically family!” She stepped back, gave me another beaming smile, and then waved to my supervisor over my shoulder. “Well, I'll leave you *girls* to your day. See you soon!”

She wasn't even out the door before Katie's pup-pup giggles turned into an outright belly laugh. I felt the urge to melt where I was, my embarrassment complete.

I can’t even force myself to turn around to see Katie’s face.

When her laughter finally died down, I spun slowly to find Katie smiling up at me.

“Alright then, 'Courtney.' Do you prefer that name? Do we need to contact HR about pronouns?”

“Oh God, please no. It was . . . it's a long story.”

“You don’t need to pitch a hissy-fit.” She giggled again. “Well, you can tell me over lunch, in a few hours. If we didn’t have such a big meeting today I’d demand immediate full details about David’s kiss and where you got your outfit. Right now, I need you to take over so I can finish some last-minute changes to today’s slideshow presentation.”

I gulped. “But I need to go home and change.”

Katie shook her head. “Nope! No time for that. You look great -- better than ever, actually; and I need every minute I can get. Violet called after I got hold of you but she's four hundred miles west of here. You're my only hope of getting this whole mess done, at all. I'll buy your lunch on top of the double time, but I need you. . .now.”

“What will everyone say?” I anguished.

“Honey. . .. Frankly Courtney. . ..”

“’Cody,’” I corrected her.

She waved me off. “Who here knows you well enough to care? You barely pop your head out of your cubicle. I know you. Violet knows you. Amanda knows you. Those two won’t be here today. For everyone else, you’re a non-entity.”

Sadly, she’s right. I’ve worked here for almost two years, since getting my associate’s degree. Even though there’s nearly a hundred employees, I’m the undisputed Mr. Anonymous.

I looked into Katie's eyes and saw humor -- but also the sheen of very real stress and a set to her teeth that told me how seriously she needed me.

“I’ll be sure to call you ‘Courtney.’” She smiled warmly. “I’ll owe ya one.”

With a sigh, I went to my cubicle for my laptop, came back, and circled around the desk. Katie clapped her hands happily and gave me a very unprofessional hug after she stood and let me have my seat, just in time for the phone to ring.

“Jacobs’ eCommerce, this is Courtney. How may I help you this fine morning?”

***

That was how my next three hours went: answering questions, directing calls, making appointments, and sending reminders to secretaries and account reps about everything under the eCommerce sun.

I knew what to do based on many conversations with Katie, Amanda, and Violet. It wasn’t my first rodeo. I’d filled in for them before -- a few minutes here and there.

People came and went. I interacted with clients and workers from other floors. No one gave the slightest sign of wondering how “Cody” had morphed into “Courtney.”

The men flirted and the women asked about my top. No one “Man-gendered” me while saying their howdies.

I had one minor panic attack about an hour in when I had to take a bathroom break. All it took was catching my reflection in the doors of the elevator to know just how bad an idea the men's room would be. I recalculated my course.

I will be using the “W” today.

Sarah, from accounting, gave me only a passing glance and a smile when I came out of my stall, and then freshened my lips in the mirror. Remembering what Emma had told me, I sprayed a little perfume on each wrist to deepen my disguise.

What Katie was having me do wasn't a hard job, and I knew it well. Jacobs’ eCommerce was an impressive business for how young it was, but the nice thing about “ecommerce” is that the vast majority of our customer base did everything online.

When I had joined the company I had been one of maybe twenty people on the team. Since then, we had grown to almost a hundred, but -- for the most part -- my job remained unchanged.

I worked directly under Katie VanHook, Mr. Jacobs' personal secretary/office manager. In theory, I serve at the whimsy of not only Mr. Jacobs -- but the other dozen or so high-ranked folks in the business, most of whom have less seniority than me but are much more powerful. In practice, I’m more or less a secretary's secretary.

I’m fine with that.

I know who the boss is, but he’s so busy building the company he’s almost never around.

Mr. Jacobs’ first name is Orlando, but that’s a company secret no one ever violates. I only know about it from reading legal documents.

Mr. Jacobs pays well. My hours are regular and almost never particularly heavy duty. I have weekends off, and I like the three people in my group.

Friends I play D&D with have more challenging jobs – but they’re all at the mercy of their companies, who contact them twenty-four/seven. Who needs that?

My job involved proof-reading documents. Not long after I started, I realized I understood the protocols we used to solve our clients’ problems. My general work knowledge level matched anyone else’s in the company -- including Mr. Jacobs. I derived personal satisfaction from what I did, even though very few people seemed to notice.

Ambitious? Maybe not in some people’s eyes. That was one thing my dad always made sure I knew -- I lack ambition. He objected to my decisions. Whether it was my refusal to go into the military, my choice to go to Aror University of Art, or my decision to stop after getting my associate's degree and just work for a while. All of it screamed, to him, my disinterest in being “the man” he thought I should be.

Imagine if he could see me now.

I giggled.

One o’clock rolled around faster than I would have thought, and my laptop chimed when it was time for my lunch break. I was on the verge of clicking the cancel icon when Katie came out of her office.

She set her hands on the reception desk and beamed down at me. “Are ya fixin’ to eat? My treat.”

“Is it okay to go?”

Katie nodded. “The big meeting has been delayed until 3:30. Thanks to you I got my work almost caught up. Selene said she would handle incoming until we get back. Besides, you owe me a long and salacious story.”

With a sigh I clicked the “sign out” icon, and then set the system to redirect everyone to Selene's office and computer. She was basically the “Katie” for Mr. Jacobs' second-in-command, Mr. Braun, and ran the office expansion on the floor above us. What favors Katie had to cash in to get her to do my job for an hour -- I don't want to imagine.

Katie gave me another wild grin while I stood and stretched. “You really do look cute, you know. And your hair looks a lot better down like that than in your usual ponytail or man bun.”

I gave a half-hearted laugh. “I’ve been ma'amed at least a dozen times during the last few years. Can you imagine what it’d be like if I wore my hair like this every day?” I shrugged, grabbed my messenger bag and swung it over my shoulder before joining Katie on the other side of the desk. “Addie's Cafe?”

“You read my mind, girl,” Katie said, and then unexpectedly took my arm and led me to the elevator. “Now that it's fall they’ll have that amazing sweet potato soup. I've been cravin’ it all day.”

I wanted to complain about her saying “girl” but with the thought of Addie's sweet potato soup, and the crispy rye toast she served with it, my mouth watered too much to say anything.

“I want a bowl that’s bigger’n Dallas!” Katie added.

We were across the lobby, out the doors, and almost to Addie's before exactly what was going on finally crashed in on me.

I jerked to a stop. I’m on the street, with my boss, dressed as a girl!

I've just spent all morning at work, answering phones and dealing with people coming through the lobby. . .dressed as a girl. And. . .after the first few anxious moments, it hadn’t felt weird enough so that I even thought about it. . .until now.

“What the fuck am I doing?”

“What's wrong?” Katie asked – having pulled to a standstill with me next to a sidewalk mailbox.

I gulped. “Uhmm, Katie? Instead of going to eat, do you think I could go home to change?” My frayed nerves were reflected in my voice. “I need to change. . .my clothes. I need to be me. . .Cody.”

Katie started to say something, but clicked her teeth closed when, I guess, she realized how much everything was caving in on me.

I’m terrified!

“I could go home, change, and be back to work in an hour,” I pleaded. “Twenty minutes to walk home. Twenty minutes to change. Twenty minutes back.”

She slowly shook her head. “Honey, it would take you twenty minutes just to clean the polish off your nails.”

I looked at my glistening pale-pink fingernails and sighed. I’d completely forgotten about them.

“Courtney, Sweetie. . .I’m willing to bet you don’t even have polish remover or cotton balls.”

I stared sadly at my. . .Emma’s. . .shoes.

“Whoever dressed you forgot to give you the keys to a male makeover. Removing your make-up is a long job -- in itself. For instance, you’re going to need eye make-up remover, or you’ll look like a raccoon.”

A tear fell from my carefully-lined eye.

She touched my arm. “I'll tell ya what. Let's go eat, and then after we've talked -- we'll see, okay? But I really need some food in my growling stomach. I really want to treat you to this, and I *really* want to hear what's going on. If, afterward, you don't think you can finish the day -- well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Deal?”

I sighed. Deeply. Once. Twice. “Deal.”

“Good. Your outfit looks perfect,” she assured me casually. “I almost bought that same blouse.”

I can trust her taste. She always looks put-together, except her habit of wearing too many rings.

With a small tug she took my arm in hers and we continued walking.

Addie's was a little hole-in-the-wall diner only about five minutes from the eCommerce office. It was one of those inexplicable places that you wouldn't think could survive in the area of town we were in. It seemingly should’ve been pushed out by some other, more profitable, or more bougie, eatery.

But, if anything, it was just the opposite. The restaurant was beat up, run down, and didn't have a single bench in the whole place that wasn't torn to high heaven. Despite everything, it was always busy, the staff were always friendly, and it was one of my favorite places in town.

Addie’s stated mission was proudly displayed on a wall plaque: To Cheerfully Serve Delicious Wholesome Food at a Reasonable Price.

The waitresses wore darling little dresses and dainty aprons inspired by the 1950s.

It looks like fun to be them. They all seem to love their jobs.

Most of the surrounding businesses apparently stuck to standard work hours and took their lunches at noon. We caught a seat just as the place was calming down from the lunch rush. Neither of us bothered to look at menus. As soon as the beaming waitress came by, we gave her our orders.

Katie clasped her hands on the table in front of her and looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay – from the beginning. So, I play tabletop games with a few friends of mine from Plano East High School. Our DM -- Dungeon Master -- is always giving me a hard time about playing girly characters and stuff, and. . ..”

“Do you?” She inquired.

“Do I what?”

Katie rolled her eyes. “. . .play girly characters?”

I blushed. “I mean, I guess -- sometimes? Tabletop games are all about being someone other than yourself, so sometimes I play guys -- sometimes I play girls. And I'd play a lot *fewer* girls if he'd stop finding excuses to turn my guy characters INTO girls, so it's at least half his fault,” I huffed.

In truth, it’s only maybe like ten percent Stan’s fault, since I usually opt for girl characters -- regardless. Most of the others played guys pretty much exclusively, and I always feel that having something a bit different – feminine -- helps the group dynamic. Whether we were doing something with superheroes, high fantasy, or urban horror a female POV creates realism.

I shook my head, wanting to get back on point. “Anyway, he's always giving me the business about being girly. Well, about two weeks ago it bugged him that I was role-playing a female ranger. He made a bet with me that I wouldn’t dress as a girl “in real life” for Halloween. He’d pay me a hundred bucks, if I showed up at his party – all *feminine-like*.”

“Which you won?”

I nodded. “Well, I won half: I promised a friend of mine half the money, if she'd help me.” That’s technically true. Despite our four-year age gap, I always consider Emma to be pretty cool and a “friend.”

We stopped talking for a few moments when our food arrived. We both found ourselves more interested in the delicious smells wafting from our bowls than conversation.

After a few careful bites of the still steaming hot soup, Katie looked up at me. “Okay. So, you dressed as a girl and went to a costume party last night. Is this what you wore?”

“Ah, no. Emma, my friend and David’s sister, lent me one of her old school uniforms.”

Katie coughed, nearly choking on a bite of her toast, while she laughed. “Wait, you were a ‘Sexy’ School Girl?!”

“A 'Cute' School Girl,” I countered, feeling the distinction had to be made, because this morning Emma had made it sound important. “But, I mean, yeah. We went to Stan's party, and I got my money, but I was. . .. It wasn’t much of a party.” I’d stopped myself from telling Katie that I was almost the only “girl” there. That probably saved me from getting laughed at, again. “So, my friend David and I went to his frat party, and. . ..”

“No, no, no. . .. Stop.” Katie snorted, putting her spoon down carefully. “You went to a *frat party.*”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“Dressed as a ‘Sexy’ School Girl?”

“A ‘Cute’ School Girl,” I corrected, again.

“Right. You went to a frat party? Dressed as a School Girl? With a boy?”

I stirred my soup while I felt my face burn. “I mean, when you put it like that. . ..” I took a sip of soup, looking for something -- anything -- to focus on -- other than Katie’s judging eyes.

She seemingly tried to stop her giggling with another spoonful of soup. “So how was the frat party?”

I took another spoonful before answering – then I brightened. “Okay -- I guess it was ‘okay.’ It was at a club. They had a minibar set up and were carding folks at the door, so it was more of an upperclassmen thing. Folks were dancin’ -- and it was fun.”

“Did you do a lot of dancin’?”

“I did some.”

“Sounds like a hoot. Did you dance with boys. . .or girls?”

“I don't … both. . .I guess. I didn’t want to make anyone feel bad, you know. So, I danced with anyone who asked. I never sat. At the same time, girls were all over David. It would have been scary to dance with guys, but I noticed David always dancing within fifteen feet of me and being watchful. I felt safe.”

Having David worrying about me was comforting. . . maybe even exciting.

I shrugged. “Hell, after David got hammered he even tried to slow-dance with me. At first, it seemed okay. . .but he got too handsy. That's when I knew it was time to go. I took his keys; and we went back to his place.”

“His place?!”

“Not like *that!* It's. . .. Like half the people our age, he lives with his parents. Like I said, his sister's the one I borrowed the uniform from, and she was supposed to be there to help me change back, after I won the bet. She was still out when we got in. So, I helped David get into bed, and then kinda dozed off myself.”

“Same bed? . . . Same bed,” she confirmed for herself, my blush seemingly had been all the answer she needed.

“We've been friends since fifth grade,” I explained. “It's hardly the first time. We slept in a double sleeping bag together on a scout overnight, years ago. Last night. . .he was under the covers last night -- and I was on top.”

At least, when I fell asleep.

“Good. A girl should always take a turn on top,” she opined.

I choked on my soup. “You’re not being fair,” I wheezed.

“But you still haven't told me how you wound up dressed in Secretary Chic – and how you got kissed.”

I've been hoping not to. “Well, ah, his mom walked in this morning and. . .”

“Ohmigod! Were you two doing it?”

“NO!” I shrieked, loud enough to get a few stares from the other diners. “No,” I repeated more quietly. “We were not and DID not. I'm not. . .we're not dating. But I was still dressed as a School Girl, and she didn't recognize me.” I dabbed my lips and noted red stains on the napkin.

“All this time we’ve worked together and my gaydar never went off,” she mused.

“I’m not gay, at least I didn’t think I was gay before this morning, and even then . . ..”

“Would it be so bad? I sometimes envy Violet’s spirit.”

“I don’t know. . ..” A tear fell from my eye.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

I but my lip and stifled a sniff. “It’s almost too much. Everything I thought I knew about myself has been turned upside down.”

“Have you ever thought about going with the flow.”

I laughed. “That’s all you can do when you’re up a creek without a paddle.”

“Give it some time.” She smiled. “David’s mom. . .. Was she Ms. Big Hair this morning, with your bag?”

I nodded.

Katie laughed again. “Is she blind -- or just dumber than a box of rocks?”

“Just *hopeful* I think?” I shook my head. “David's hasn’t had many girlfriends and. . ..”

“Stop right there. I’ve seen David. He’s stunning.”

“If they’d been giving out prizes last night he’d’ve won: Best Hair. Brightest Smile. Sexiest Body.”

She laughed. “So, what’s his problem?”

I nodded. “He’s ‘stunning’ and stunningly picky. If I showed you a folder of pictures of the girls he’s dated, they’re like clones. He has a definite type. They have to be slender, with boobs that are nicely shaped. . .but not too big. Their eyes must be blue. . .like mine. Girls with short hair don’t make the cut.”

“Let me guess . . . do they have to have honey-blonde hair?”

I gasped. “How did you know?”

“I’m assuming he’s either in love with Kirsten Dunst or. . ..”

“Uh-huh. They have to look like Kirsten Dunst. Anyway, this morning, Emma put me in this getup to get me past their mom without letting the cat out of the bag. But we got stopped for breakfast, then YOU called. . .. And. . .then David’s mom forced him to kiss me and. . ..”

“What?!!”

“She’s kinda pushy,” I admitted.

“Or -- was she fuckin’ with ya?”

I nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

Katie's soup was now fully forgotten. She sat with her face caught halfway between disbelief and hilarity. “So, along with debating your sexuality, your life has basically been a nonstop sitcom since yesterday afternoon.”

“Pretty much,” I agreed, smiling a bit while the humor of the whole situation hit me. “It is kinda funny, isn't it?”

“Bet yer sweet ass! I can’t wait to get home to tell Jose about your adventures. My husband loves hilarious stories. Although, we should finish eating.”

“Ah, yeah,” I agreed, looking over her shoulder at the giant, Tab soda clock on the wall. We have another twenty minutes to eat and get back to work. Despite my intentions, something told me I'd still be wearing my “secretary chic” outfit, as Katie had called it, when we got there.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how silly my panic had been. I'd already spent an uneventful half workday in Emma’s clothes. I savored my soup and wondered about the spices they’d used. “It’s a little late to get upset about how I’m dressed.”

Katie nodded. “Yep. And besides, you look really nice. You should really wear your hair down more often.”

“I would, but. . ..” I waved at my outfit. “I think folks would expect the rest of this along with it, wouldn't you?”

“Why keep your hair so long, if you're worried about what people think?”

I groaned. “That's another long story. David told me about five years ago that my hair is my best feature. I trust what he tells me, so I never have it shortened, just cleaned up.” It’s caused endless friction with Dad.

“David’s right. Say. . .you don’t seem to realize that you have hair the same color as Kirsten Dunst. Honey-blond. If Revlon could make a tint to match it, it would fly off the shelves.”

“Thanks. I like it.” I think that was a compliment. Hard to tell. Katie’s not mean-spirited, so she probably meant it.

Katie studied her phone for a few moments. “Oh no.” When she looked up her face was red. “Oh boy! Mr. Jacobs just sent me a text. He said you handled some arrangements for him this morning.”

I shook a bit. “I didn’t screw something up for him, did I?”

“No. . ..” She checked her phone again. “Just the opposite. The big meeting got re-scheduled, again, to tomorrow morning at 10:00. Mr. Jacobs wants ‘Courtney’ to sit in.”

“No. . ..”

She nodded slowly. “He said he’s neglected moving your career along and wants to start grooming ‘Courtney’ – to eventually move you into management. You must have impressed him. . ..”

“Holy Hannah! What am I gonna do?”

“What are we gonna do, you mean? I’m in this with you, up to my eyeballs. This is no longer a sitcom. It’s become super-serious. *We’re* going to make sure ‘Courtney’ is ready for that meeting tomorrow.”

Chapter Four
Lemma Tell Ya, Them Guys Ain’t Dumb

“Huh?!” I managed to get out. My Halloween bet is exploding in my face!

“If Mr. Jacobs wants Courtney at that meeting tomorrow, you’re going to show up.”

“I. . .I. . .can’t,” I sputtered.

Katie shook her head. “There’s no other way. You started down this road by coming into the office this morning dressed like you are.”

“But. . ..” I whined. “That wasn’t my fault. Emma didn’t. . ..”

“It isn’t Emma sitting in front of me looking cuter than any other woman in this restaurant. . .including me. Darn you! You made choices, and now we’re going to work within those choices. Mr. Jacobs has a sense of humor, but things are too serious at work right now to test his freaking limits.”

It’ll just make things worse. “I. . .I can’t,” I stammered.

“Why?” After waiting a moment, she continued. “You don’t have any reason not to continue being Courtney for another day. Once the meeting is over and eCommerce is back on even keel, you ‘n’ I will have a sit down with Mr. Jacobs and, hopefully, everyone will have a good laugh.”

“But. . .but it won’t work.”

She laughed. “‘It’ worked today. I’m going to get you into my salon late this afternoon and have them give you the works. Emma did a good job, but a team of professionals will produce even better results. You’re also going to need more clothes.”

“Why. . .?”

“Because having you look fabulous will increase your confidence and eliminate the possibility of anyone around you calling you ‘Cody.’” She grinned. “Your outfit today is perfect, but no woman would wear the same clothes two days in a row. Someone might think she’d slept over at her lover’s and didn’t have time to get changed before coming into work. Come to think of it – that’s pretty much what happened to you.” She giggled.

“David isn’t my lover!” I argued vehemently.

“Yet. . ..” She grinned. “David isn’t your lover *yet.* Maybe after your makeover he’ll change his mind.”

“Katie! Be serious! I won’t do it,” I fumed. “This is going to stop right now. I’m going home to change, and we’ll put this behind us.”

Katie’s face clouded. “Do you like your job?”

Both my eyebrows shot up. “Are you threatening to fire me, if I don’t dress in women’s clothing tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “No. This must be your decision. You need to be committed for this to work. But before you decide, you need to know how much is at stake.”

“Katie. . .I can’t believe you would threaten me.” I thought I knew her!

“I’m not threatening you! If you decide to come to work tomorrow as ‘Cody’ I’m not going to fire you. There will be no disciplinary action, but -- please consider this completely. Our employer, eCommerce, is in a perilous situation. If the meeting tomorrow doesn’t result in a signed contract with Plades Inc. it’s very possible Mr. Jacobs will declare bankruptcy within a week. I’ve already proofread the legal documents his attorney has prepared.”

“You’re kidding!” I had no idea things had gotten so bad.

“Unfortunately, eCommerce doesn’t have a pot to piss in. Mr. Jacobs expanded too quickly. Our bank will pull the line of credit if he doesn’t land a substantial new revenue stream. He won’t be able to keep the doors open. Jacob’s eCommerce has got a lot of cash, but will soon hit the wall, without our line of credit.”

I could feel panic starting to rise in my body. “How can that be?”

“He got out over his skis. The same entrepreneurial spirit that allowed him to start his business has prompted him to continue to take risks. Unfortunately, he’s taken on too much debt -- and his freaking vulture creditors are starting to circle.”

“Even if he has a good meeting tomorrow,” I asked, “will a new contract keep eCommerce in business?”

She nodded. “Most assuredly. Are you aware of the Employee Stock Ownership Plan?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

She laughed. “Cody . . . er . . . Courtney. . .what would you do if you had $300,000?”

I giggled. “That will never happen. The most I’ve ever had in my bank account for more than a few days is $500. I live paycheck to paycheck.”

“We all do,” she commiserated. “But eCommerce offered Stock Options to the first thirty-five employees. Everyone got the same benefit.”

“I vaguely remember that. I was just happy to land a job.”

“Mr. Jacobs hasn’t emphasized the option since after he started hiring so many employees. He doesn’t want the newer employees to become jealous. And -- he doesn’t want to give up any more of his company.”

“I get it,” I said.

“If the company *ever* has a street value of over $15,000,000, we can exercise the right to purchase two percent of the company’s stock for $1,000.”

I nodded dumbfoundedly. “Two percent of $15,000,000 is $300,000.”

“Yep, damn right it is. In fact, in the old employee handbook this option was known as the $300,000 Incentive Plan.”

“What’s the odds eCommerce will ever be worth $15,000,000 -- if Mr. Jacobs is considering bankruptcy?”

“The documents prepared by the attorneys indicate a negative net worth of $400,000. However, the annual profit with the increased revenue from an ongoing relationship with Plades Inc. would be approximately $4,000,000. Most of our expenses are fixed, so it would cost very little extra to service Plades Inc. Businesses like ours are valued at about five times profit.”

We’ll be valued at about $20,000,000. I whistled. “So, if eCommerce lands this contract, we can buy stock for $1,000 that’s worth about $400,000.”

She nodded.

“But what if Mr. Jacobs makes more mistakes and the business becomes worthless again?”

“That won’t happen,” Katie explained. “The shares we’ll be buying are voting shares. Only six people have left the company who had this stock option, thereby forfeiting their right. Still, once everyone has exercised their options, Mr. Jacobs’ share of the company will be about forty percent. He will be reporting to a board, who will provide ongoing guidance. We’ll have minority shareholders’ rights.”

“$400,000,” I marveled. “I could buy a house.”

“You sure could – you could buy a starter home, without a mortgage, even. You’d have a lot of options. I could afford IVF. Violet could get married and go on an extended honeymoon. So. . .you see . . . if the meeting goes as it should, everyone wins. If things go badly, we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”

I shuddered. “Maybe I should just call in ‘sick.’”

“There’s no need for you to throw a conniption.” She shook her head. “Mr. Jacobs said that he thinks your involvement in the meeting tomorrow is vital. He’s normally right about these things. Despite his tendency to take a lot of risk, he has good instincts. Besides. . ..” She stopped short.

“‘Besides. . .what?” I demanded.

“I’m not a professional psychiatrist, but. . .. The thing is, Courtney, if you’re not trans, I’ll be the most surprised person west of Baton Rouge and east of Santa Fe.”

“Trans. . .?” I closed my eyes. “It was a bet. Then Emma didn’t get back. Then Mrs. Fletcher took me to the office. Then. . ..”

“You’ve made choice after choice that allowed you to look like you do today. Your hair didn’t get long overnight.”

“Lots of people have had long hair. Chris Hemsworth, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt. . ..”

“. . .Laverne Cox, Jamie Clayton, Jen Richards. . ..”

“Who?”

Katie laughed. “They’re all trans actresses.”

“I’m not trans. I can’t believe you would attack me over my hair,” I wailed.

She sat back. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was stupid. But. . .. Jose and I have two close friends who are trans. They’re as dissimilar as night and day. One has short hair, the other has hair longer than yours. The thing about them is. . .they’re both very happy.”

“What does that have to do with me,” I asked. “People have been telling me to ‘Cheer up’ all my life.”

“You do tend to be a bit of a Debbie Downer.”

I laughed. “Rachel Dratch is a genius. My favorite Debbie Downer quote is, ‘By the way ... it's official ... I can't have children.’”

Katie smiled. “The thing is -- you weren’t a Debbie Downer this morning. You sparkled.”

I sighed. “I’ll have to admit, I enjoyed work today, whatever the reason.”

Katie nodded. “You always had a smile on your face, even when the Fed-Ex jerk came in and told one of his patented sexist jokes.”

“He can be a handful. But I think he means well.”

“You were laughing and smiling all day.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean I’m trans.”

“Maybe so. However – can you truthfully tell me you’ve never wished y’all had been born a girl?”

“Sure. . .when I was five -- or six. But all boys go through that. My mother understood. She bought me several dresses and my own make-up. Dad didn’t like it . . . so I quit, but. . ..”

“Dangit, Courtney. You’re as trans as. . ..” She stopped for a moment thinking. “. . .as RuPaul.”

“I’m not! I’m just a regular person who got caught in a crazy situation.”

“Uh-huh! And I’m a size ten who wears a size fourteen to mask my tininess -- because I don’t want other women to be jealous.”

I laughed.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t feel so confused about David if you weren’t so tied up in knots about who you are? I’ve only seen you with David a few times. Both of you give off high compatibility vibes.”

Vibes? Could it be possible?

“Look,” Katie said. “We’re into this. Come hell or high water, you need to cooperate, and we’ll straighten everything out when the dust settles.”

I nodded slowly and finished my soup. Magically, this soup is still tasty when it’s cold.

***

After I got back to the office, I received a message from Mr. Jacobs that stated I should take notes during the meeting, to discuss everything after Mr. Plades leaves . . .. However, I should stay quiet during the actual conversation. I’m there to learn . . . not to actively participate.

At 4:30, Katie and I bolted from the office to a Banana Republic store. Katie shopped like she knew where everything was.

Within thirty minutes she had spent nearly eleven hundred of my dollars. Nothing we purchased was on sale. My credit cards were becoming exhausted.

“My” dress was a navy-blue midi that Katie said was perfect for a business meeting. Its crepe mock neck and long sleeves gave me a strange boost.

The black leather loafers I selected had a chunky one-inch heel, that I could easily navigate.

“It’s a good thing you already have pierced ears,” Katie stated while choosing plump silver hoops that were much heavier than any of the studs I customarily wore. She matched them with a single silver dome ring.

I blushed the entire time we were buying unmentionables.

By 6:00 we were in a salon and under the tender care of three eager beauticians.

A sign on their wall stated, “Beauty comes from inside; inside the hair salon.”

Three hours later I had been plucked, waxed, manicured, and painted. My hair had been tinted and arranged in what they called a “messy bun.”

“I’ll be by your home tomorrow morning – early -- to fix your makeup. Get a good night’s sleep,” she instructed while she dropped me off in front of where I lived with Jorge.

He wasn’t home when I arrived. He’ll sleep in tomorrow, so with any luck I won’t have to explain how I look.

Chapter Five
When You’re Sittin’ at the Table

It was exactly the kind of bright, blue weather God must have had in mind when He created early November.

Thankfully, Jorge didn’t pop out of his bedroom while Katie was doing my face and repairing my hair.

Katie sprayed me with a musky perfume called Black Orchid that she said was perfect for the office. It seemed to exude class and confidence. . .two things I felt low on -- at the moment.

We had the conference room ready and rearin’ to go by 9:00, which was good because Mr. Plades arrived thirty minutes early.

My nervous stomach flipped at the idea of eating any of the sweet rolls or fruit stacked on platters. All I accepted was a mug of black coffee.

Mr. Jacobs sprinted into the room shortly after Mr. Plades had arrived.

Someone must have told him that Mr. Plades came early.

“Good morning, Gerald,” Mr. Jacobs said with a broad smile. “With the Mavs game last night, I didn’t think you’d be in so early this morning.”

Mr. Plades smiled. “Thank you for the tickets. I was two rows up from Mark Cuban. He’s very intent during the game. But at half time he did take time to come up to talk to me. Someone must have told him I would be there.”

Mr. Jacobs grinned. “Guilty. Mark and I serve on a board together.”

“I’ve been waiting for the season,” Mr. Plades said, referring to football season which is all most Texans care about. “But, meeting Cuban was special.”

“Today’s special,” Mr. Jacobs said. He went around the table introducing us. “Katie VanHook -- my assistant. Mark Braun -- VP of Products, who’s been spearheading the work on your problem. Al Comstock – CFO, and, Courtney Williams -- Contract Review.”

Mr. Plades held onto my hand long enough for it to feel awkward. “Courtney, do you ever get to use those Mavs tickets.”

“I didn’t know we had them,” I answered truthfully.

Everyone laughed, while I blushed.

“As you said, ‘today is special,’” Mr. Plades said to Mr. Jacobs. “I’ve been searching for a solution to our esales dilemma for months. Frankly, you’re our last hope.”

He spent the next few minutes describing his company’s problems.

I had read his specifications when they came in. Their problem was complex. Luckily, we had solved the exact same problem for two other companies during the first few months of my employment.

I sat back and watched Mr. Jacobs respond by going through his PowerPoint presentation. Much to my surprise, the solution he proposed was much different than what we’d used before.

“We’ll have your problem fully solved in under forty-five days,” Mr. Braun emphasized, after Mr. Jacobs sat.

Mr. Plades sagged in his chair and covered his face with both hands. After several moments he sighed heavily. “Forgive me. It’s very hard for me to accept failure. I prayed you’d have an answer. I’m not looking forward to going back to my people and telling them all it’s over.”

“What do you mean?” Mr. Jacobs asked.

“You were my last hope,” Mr. Plades stated. “The last forty-eight hours have been a whirlwind. I apologize for re-scheduling twice. Investors can be demanding. I’ve got a group of mezzanine investors willing to extend all the credit I need, if you had come up with an answer, but. . ..”

“It’ll work,” Mr. Braun argued. “Maybe you didn’t understand. Let’s go through it, again.”

Mr. Plades shook his head. “We’ve already poured $four million down that specific rathole. We know your proposal won’t work. I can assure you we’ve made every effort.”

Mr. Braun laughed. “Our solution is fool proof.”

Mr. Plades’ face turned red. “It would fail. Our primary software includes a Gulliver patch. That patch cannot be removed without destroying our entire system. That would be catastrophic.”

While he was talking, I studied Mr. Jacobs’ face -- wondering why he wasn’t recommending the solution we’d used successfully before. He was staring straight ahead and gave the impression that he had checked out.

I don’t know what the Captain of the Titanic looked like after they hit the iceberg, but Mr. Jacobs looks like he’s about ready to tell us to rearrange the deck chairs and start the band playing.

“A Gulliver patch?” The color had drained from Mr. Braun’s face. “You should have told us.”

“It was in their specs,” I said quietly.

Mr. Braun frowned at me. “You’re only in this meeting to gain experience. Do I need to remind you that you’re to be silent.”

“She’s right,” Mr. Plades said. “We were very careful to disclose the Gulliver Patch in our specifications. I believe it was on the first page of the software disclosures.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a copy of what I assumed was their specifications for bid. “Uh-huh. Here it is.” He turned the document toward Mr. Jacobs. “Right there. Gulliver patch.”

“I. . .I. . .,” Mr. Braun stammered.

I stood. “There’s something I don’t understand.”

Mr. Braun waved for me to sit, but I ignored him.

Mr. Plades looked toward me with mild interest. “What is it you don’t understand? Is there something I can explain about our problem?”

I shook my head and felt loose tendrils fly behind me. “No. We’ve seen your problem twice before and solved it both times. What I don’t understand. . ..”

“Both times?” Mr. Plades exclaimed. “You say you’ve solved the problem I’m having *twice* before?”

I nodded. “In both instances the companies had a Gulliver patch, which is why I know our solution will work. The solution we used is called the Jack Carter patch. Jack Carter is the park where the software engineer who developed the patch often walked on their hiking paths.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Plades,” Mr. Braun said hurriedly. “Courtney is an intern, of sorts. She shouldn’t even be talking.”

Mr. Plades’ face turned red, and then he raised his voice to almost a shout. “If. . .if eCommerce has solved my problem twice before – then it appears she has much more to say that is pertinent -- than anyone else in this meeting.” He turned to me. “What are the names of the two companies who you provided a solution my company could use.”

The room got deathly silent. I turned toward Mr. Jacobs. “Is it okay if I speak?”

He nodded dumbly.

“The first was Marvin Coffees,” I said. “The second was Pilgrim’s Nuts.”

Mr. Jacobs’ face brightened as he came back to life. “That’s right,” he said slowly. “Those were both handled by Tony Wang. Tony loved to hike in Jack Carter Park.”

“Well,” Mr. Plades demanded, “please get ‘Tony’ in here.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Mr. Jacobs apologized. “Tony had a religious calling and is now on a mission in Africa. He quit our company a year ago.”

“But. . .,” I said hurriedly, “his proprietary technology is still owned by eCommerce. We have several project supervisors who can implement the solution for you and perform the required maintenance. Your company isn’t quite as big as either Marvin Coffees or Pilgrim’s Nuts, but the parameters all fit. Y’all can grow to be bigger than either of them.”

“Why didn’t you suggest this approach in your presentation?” Mr. Plades asked Mr. Jacobs.

Mr. Jacobs turned toward Mr. Braun.

Mr. Braun opened and closed both fists several times before answering. “I. . .I started two months after Tony left. I wanted to upgrade our product line; and I took the company in a new direction.”

“So, you threw the baby out with the bath water.” Mr. Jacobs shook his head. “It would have been good to consult with me before. . ..”

“You hired me to make those decisions,” Mr. Braun said petulantly.

“We’ll discuss *why* I hired you, later,” Mr. Jacobs said ominously.

Mr. Plades turned toward me. “Can you prove that your solution solved the problems for Marvin Coffees and Pilgrim’s Nuts?”

I smiled. “When we ‘solve problems’ we ask the CEOs of the companies to agree to provide testimonial, if we ever need it. It’s entirely voluntary, but both CEOs formally agreed to talk to prospective clients for us. We’ve never called on them before. However, we do have letters in file from them that state what problems we solved. I think you’ll find those letters fit the needs of your investors. Mr. Jacobs, should I produce copies of those letters for Mr. Plades?”

He nodded.

Ten minutes later, I returned with the two copies and gave them to Mr. Plades.

Mr. Braun had left the meeting.

After Mr. Plades reviewed the letters, he nodded several times. “We’re blessed that Courney added so much to this meeting. This is indeed a very good day.” He turned to Mr. Jacobs. “Do you have contracts ready for my signature?”

Mr. Jacobs smiled broadly. “Of course.”

“Can you have them produced? My attorneys have signed off and I’m ready to ink an agreement. I’ve got a cashier’s check for the deposit in my briefcase. However, I want the contracts as we discussed with one small change. I want Courtney to be the Account Executive. . .not Mr. Braun.”

“Of course,” Mr. Jacobs stated. “Mr. Braun won’t be involved with your company. In fact, I’m willing to bet that when I get back to my office his resignation will be on my desk.”

The meeting broke up with Mr. Braun and Mr. Jacobs going to Mr. Jacobs’ office to execute the amended contract.

***

When I got back to my cubicle I tried to pick up the work I had been doing forty-eight hours ago -- before Halloween night.

Halloween night!

I rushed into Katie’s office. “Katie, the weirdest thing has happened.”

Katie frowned. “Avery from maintenance didn’t hit on you, did he? We’ve warned him about. . ..”

“What? No!” I shook my head to re-rail my thoughts. “It’s just. . .I just realized that I’m wearing a dress, perfume, and make-up.”

She smiled at me. “You just realized that? Did you pour vodka on your cereal this morning instead of milk?”

I giggled. “What I mean is. . .I was in that meeting for over three hours, and not once did I feel self-conscious about how I look.”

“Why would you? You look terrific.”

I shook my head. “But. . .shouldn’t I feel foolish?”

“You had better things to think about during the meeting. You’re a damn hero. You saved the company!” She got up and hugged me. “That fool Braun! He’s all hat – no cattle. His arrogance nearly took us all down. Had you not spoken up. . ..” A tear ran down her face. “We’re all going to be rich . . . and we all could have been out on the street looking for work!”

“Don’t make such a fuss. I didn’t do all that much,” I demurred. “It’s not like I invented the solution. Tony Wang did that.”

“And to think that awful Braun tried to hush you up.”

I giggled again. “I can’t believe I actually kept talking over his objection. What in heavens got into me?”

“What got into you, indeed? Let’s see. What’s different about you today than at any time in the past when you lacked courage?” She grinned. “Maybe a dress to you is like hair was to Sampson. Or, like the feather was to Dumbo.”

“Or, a ring was to Smeagol . . . my precious,” I said in as scratchy voice as I could, only to follow it up with a cough.

We both laughed.

I went back to my cubicle to wrestle with a few more documents before going home, when an interoffice memo showed up on my computer from Mr. Jacobs.

== Courtney, are you free to meet with me at my apartment after work today? I would very much like to express my gratitude. If you’re free, please let me know. I will have a car drive you to my apartment, after work. Please respond quickly, so I can make arrangements. ==

I ran to Katie’s office carrying my laptop, and then had her read the message.

“See?” Katie said. “It’s not just me that thinks you’re a hero.”

“What’ll I do?”

“It would be offensive to turn him down,” Katie warned. “Let him know immediately that you’d be delighted to meet with him. Just freshen your make-up and perfume shortly before closing time and be ready for an adventure!”

***

A driver was waiting for me outside the Skylar building at 4:30. He dropped me off at a condominium tower about a mile from the office.

It’s within a mile of my apartment. I’ll be able to walk home.

The man at the desk in the lobby seemed flustered by my request to go up in the elevator to Mr. Jacobs’ unit. “I don’t have you on the guest list. I’m sorry, young lady, but I can’t allow you to enter. Perhaps you should call Mr. Jacobs?”

“The office switchboard will be closed,” I explained.

At that moment, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mr. Jacobs. == I’ve been detained. I’m on my way. Please tell Arnie, the doorman, that I’ll be there in five minutes, and that he should treat you nicely.” ==

I showed my phone to “Arnie” and his attitude did a one eighty. I felt like royalty.

When Mr. Jacobs arrived he apologized profusely and ushered me up to his condo, which was the PENTHOUSE!

“We need to celebrate,” he enthused. “But first, let me get a bit more comfortable. It’s been a long day, and I need to lose this tie. I was dropping a pit during that meeting. Have a chair. I’ll be right out.”

Omigawd! What if he’s going to do a Weinstein on me? What if he comes back naked?

A minute later, he emerged from wherever he had been. The only change was that he had removed his jacket and tie.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Courtney! I’m so glad you decided to express your female self. Up until yesterday you kept yourself under the radar. When I first saw you yesterday, I couldn’t believe I had such a stunning employee and hadn’t noticed her before.”

Oh no! He’s coming on to me. He’s good-looking but I’m not at all sexually attracted to him. He’s not David!

“It was so lucky,” Mr. Jacobs enthused. “I saw you yesterday and I just knew that your presence would add a great deal to the meeting, today. I hate to think how things would have ended had you not been there.”

“You would have found a way. . ..”

“No way in hell,” he barked. “I was going down for the count. I was right to have you in the meeting . . . and I was right about Braun handing in his resignation, which I gladly accepted.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “I didn’t have much to do with him. Selene handles everything for him.”

“He was an ass to Selene,” Mr. Jacobs said. “He’s a sorry excuse for a man. Don’t feel bad for him. I asked him two months ago to change how he was treating her -- and he hasn’t improved. He wouldn’t have lasted long -- but today was the icing on the cake. Do you like champagne?”

I nodded. “I haven’t had much occasion in my life for champagne.”

“Well today is sure as hell an ‘occasion’ for champagne. I took Mr. Plades check over to our bank myself, this afternoon. . .largest check they’d ever seen. Those jaspers sure changed their tune. Talk about chameleons. One minute they’re threatening to cancel our line of credit, the next minute they’re kissing my rosy, red ass.”

He went behind a bar in the corner of his massive living room and produced a bottle of champagne. He opened it with a practiced flourish. Carrying the bottle, an ice bucket, and two flutes to where I stood -- he grinned. “I’ve got enough of this stuff on ice to make this one fucking great ‘occasion.’”

Oh gee. He wants me to get drunk and then. . ..

He poured two flutes and handed one to me. “To you Courtney, with my humblest appreciation and thanks. Thank God that you’ve got brains to match your beauty!” He clinked his glass against mine, and then inhaled about half of his.

I sipped a bit of mine. It’s tasty -- but I need to keep my wits about me.

“Let’s sit,” he invited.

There was a couch, a chair, and a loveseat. I quickly sat in the chair.

He smiled and sat on the couch.

No doubt he’ll find a way to ask me to join him on the couch! What’ll I do when he tries to kiss me? David’s not here for protection.

“Let’s talk for a bit,” he said. “We can drink a crate of champagne, and then let the evening take us where it will.”

Less than forty-eight hours ago I slept with David. Now I’m being seduced by a handsome, powerful man. “Mr. Jacobs,” I started, “I think you should know that I’m. . ..”

“Honey. . .,” a voice came from the foyer that I thought I recognized, “. . .I’m home.”

Honey? Has he set up a threesome?

The “voice” turned out to be Selene. She walked right over to where Mr. Jacobs was sitting, handed him an envelope, and then reached down and planted a kiss on his lips.

I gasped.

They both looked toward me, and I realized my gasp had been quite audible.

They laughed.

“No one in the office knows,” Selene said.

Knows what? Knows that Mr. Jacobs is a horn dog. I never would have taken Selene as someone who would. . ..

“We’ve been married for six months,” Mr. Jacobs explained. “With the tight spot the business has been in, we thought it best not to create too many waves. We’ll be telling everyone tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I said.

Selene sat next to him. “I can’t tell you how proud of you I am. Katie explained to me this afternoon how you got stuck at the office yesterday, looking so pretty. But. . .things have a way of working out for everyone. You seem much better suited as a woman -- and now that Mr. Plades wants you working with his company, it seems you’ll have the chance to try things out living female.”

“What?” I asked -- with another gasp.

Mr. Jacobs nodded. “Mr. Plades expects to be working with ‘Courtney’ Williams, and we can’t disappoint him.”

“There will be a substantial clothing allowance,” Selene said. “We realize you need a new wardrobe. You can also hire a helper, to make your transition from ‘Cody’ to ‘Courtney’ easier. Katie mentioned a college student who helped you prepare for Halloween. You could hire her at twenty dollars an hour for twenty-five hours a week at the company’s expense.” She looked to Mr. Jacobs for affirmation.

He nodded. “In fact, offer her a ten grand bonus to start right away. We don’t have time to waste!”

“But. . ..” I mumbled, knowing I couldn’t say “no.”

“You’ll be working a lot at Plades, Inc.,” Mr. Jacobs said.

I frowned. “I’ll have to sit quietly in the corner. I’m no software engineer.”

He chuckled. “No, you’re not. But you proved today that you’re a very capable project manager. That will be your title -- and you’ll report directly to me. Your salary will be five times what you’re now making.”

I drained my glass of champagne -- but still could not find words.

Mr. Jacobs went on. “On Monday, we’ll be announcing that all eligible employees can exercise their stock options. Do you know what that will mean to you.”

I nodded feebly. “I’ll make about four hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s right, Honey,” Selene chirped. “You, me, and about thirty other people will all make about four hundred thousand dollars each. Everyone’s going to love you. No one . . . not even the homophobes . . . will have a bad word to say about you.”

Bad word? Oh yeah. I’ll be working in skirts.

“But. . .first things first,” Mr. Jacobs said. He reached toward me and handed me an envelope. “This is yours. Please open it.”

The envelope contained a payroll check made out to me for . . . “Six hundred and eighty thousand, three hundred and twenty-four dollars, and twenty-two cents!” My mind reeled.

“Mr. Braun was going to get a million-dollar bonus for landing the Plades Inc. account. It’s only fair that the bonus should go to you.” Mr. Jacobs smiled. “The taxes we’ve withheld are estimates. With a good accountant helping you, you should be able to reduce the standard deduction amounts and get a nice refund from the IRS next April.”

“But. . ..” was all I could manage.

“Honey,” Selene said to Mr. Jacobs, “you need to get a glass for me. We can have one more round of champagne, and then were going to take Courtney out for the biggest, best damn steak she’s ever eaten. She’s much too pretty to be wasting her time sitting in an apartment with a married couple.” She turned to me. “Do you have a friend you’d like to have join us?”

I started to shake my head, then paused, letting the scent of my perfume calm my terror. There is one person.

“Can I invite my friend David?” I asked with a voice that was smaller than I had intended.

“Is he special to you,” Selene asked, giving me a mischievous look.

Very special! I giggled. “I can honestly say that none of this would have happened without him.”

“Then call and see if he can make it. We’ll pick him up on the way. Nothing’s too good for our new golden girl.”

“Thank you,” I finally said, while staring at my incredible check.

Chapter Six
And Your Bird Can Sing

The following week I went to Plades, Inc. with a group of seventeen employees who all answered to me.

They all knew what they were doing.

I was holding on by my freshly manicured and extended fingertips.

The employees under me all seemingly loved me because everyone at eCommerce had heard what I had done and what it had meant to each one of them. People held doors open for me and greeted me with big hugs and smiles. Some gawked but nothing overt.

David’s sister, Emma, readily agreed to work part-time as my personal assistant -- to make sure I was ready to go on Day One.

Dad made a ruckus when I showed up for dinner with him and Mom, decked out completely as Courtney. However, after I took him out to the driveway and showed him the silver ¾ Ton Ford F-250 Super Duty with Lariat trim and explained it was a gift for him, he loosened up.

He was still in a daze two hours later when I left in an Uber. He actually gave me a very affectionate hug and whispered in my ear that I looked “nice.”

David seemed pleased by the turn of events. He was even more pleased when I accepted his invitation for us to take a trip to Galveston with his sis. . .on my dime, of course.

Stan found out about the trip and made jokes at our expense about me being David’s “Sugar Mama”. . .right up until I presented him a full Warhammer army of miniatures, and the paints to boot. After all, I owed his ass for everything, too.

Maggie. . .er. . .Mrs. Fletcher took it all in stride, as if she’d known all along. She worked right along with Emma to find the perfect wardrobe and to refine my movements and speech patterns.

Jorge was amused and pleased when I suggested that we move into a better apartment. I wanted one with an extra bedroom I could use as a big closet -- in a nicer/safer building. The cost was three times what we had been paying but I agreed to cover eighty percent of the $4,200 monthly rent.

I didn’t tell anyone about the stock options or the bonus. I let everyone think I was paying the extra rent and bought Dad the pickup with my new salary. No sense in me getting’ all uppity.

I gave Mom a trip to Paris, with her sister. Mom wants to go, and Dad would never voluntarily leave Texas.

***

Three weeks into the project, Mr. Plades asked to meet with Mr. Jacobs and me in the eCommerce boardroom.

I expected the meeting would involve a discussion of the progress we had made, which had been considerable. His company was already feeling the benefits of the change. We would be switching from implementation to maintenance in a week and would cut the crew on their premises to twelve full-time employees, including me.

I was fully prepared to capsulize where we were at -- but was unprepared for what actually happened.

Mr. Plades handed a copy of a letter he had received, to Mr. Jacobs.

Mr. Jacobs read it silently, and then quickly handed it to me.

It was from Mr. Braun, our ex-employee, addressed to Mr. Plades. It was only two sentences long.

== I was shocked last Sunday to see you in church, shocked in that I didn’t take you for a Christian. No real Christian would allow a pretend woman, like Cody/Courtney, to work as a sub-contractor for him. ==

I bit my lip.

“Are you a transvestite?” Mr. Plades demanded of me.

“I. . .I. . .,” I stumbled.

“I don’t know what business that is of yours?” Mr. Jacobs stated softly.

Mr. Plades face turned scarlet. “I’m going to assume you didn’t know, Mr. Jacobs. But we did some checking, and your ‘Courtney’ Williams is really ‘Cody’ Williams.”

An awkward silence filled the room when Mr. Jacobs didn’t respond.

I’m going down!

All the terror from before returned.

Mr. Plades cleared his throat, and then continued. “This person, a man, dressing as a woman in a public business in the state of Texas is an abomination. He's trying to normalize the concept that this type of behavior is okay.”

“I’m not so sure Courtney is trying to ‘normalize’ anything,” Mr. Jacobs said feebly.

“Cody! His name is Cody!” Mr. Plades almost shouted. “Look I’m trying to make the best of this. Liberal businesses are aggressively pushing Woke views on Texas kids! All behind parents' backs! This is immoral and illegal.”

“We certainly don’t have a Woke agenda,” Mr. Jacobs argued meekly.

Mr. Plades frowned. “I’ve been through our contract with eCommerce with the best attorneys Plano has to offer. They tell me that you’ve violated the morality clause. They assure me that our Texas courts would side with me. I have every right to terminate.”

“If you do we’ll. . ..” Mr. Jacobs started.

“Choose your words carefully,” Mr. Plades stated. “My people tell me that you have the right to reverse what you’ve done to our software, if I cancel the contract. The thing is . . . I value my immortal soul much more than I do my company. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” Mr. Jacobs said. “I’m also a God-fearing man. However, Courtney has her rights. . ..”

“She/he can take her rights and put ’em where the sun don’t shine,” Mr. Plades exploded. “I’m going to offer you a right quick way out of this mess. I’ll give you five minutes to throw this abomination out on the street and we’ll go forward as if nothing ever happened.”

Mr. Jacobs looked shaken. “And, I assume that if I don’t agree to those terms you’ll cancel our relationship. Gerald, would you do that knowing that you’ll have to shut down your business and let all your people go?”

“It’s God’s will,” Mr. Plades intoned. “If I continue to profit while living with this sinner in our midst,” he pointed at me, “God will punish me severely. You now have four minutes to make your decision.”

The room went morgue quiet.

Texas is an at-will employment state, which means that either the employer or the employee can end the employment relationship at any time, for any reason, or no reason at all. If I don’t quit, or get fired, everyone’s stock will be worthless, and everyone will lose their jobs.

Mr. Jacobs turned toward me. “I’ll give you six month’s salary as severance pay.”

“It’s the only way,” I agreed. “But I’ll feel better if you make it eight months *and* you pay Emma for eight more months of work, even though I’m sure she’ll quit when she hears what’s happening. And, I get to exercise my stock option, any time I want, within the next two weeks.”

A tear escaped from his right eye. “Deal! You’re the best employee I’ve ever had.”

***

I was three hours into my shift when Katie walked in. I knew it was only a matter of time until we would see each other, while I was working at my new job.

As fate would have it, she sat at one of my tables.

I handed her a menu and gave her my best smile. “Welcome to Addie’s. I’d tell you about our specials but I’m sure you know what’s good here.”

Her grin suggested that it was no surprise to her that I was a waitress.

“Can we talk?” She asked.

“I’ve got four more hours left on my shift. How would it be if I meet you at 4:30 in the coffee shop on the first floor of the Skylar building?”

“Are you okay going there?” Katie asked. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can pick a different spot, but I’m dying to talk to you.”

“It’s been fourteen months. I don’t ever think of eCommerce anymore,” I said. “That was a different life; and I was a much different person.”

She ordered the sweet potato soup and became just another customer. Before she left we confirmed our meeting.

***

“So, how are things?” She opened.

I giggled. “‘Things’ are marvelous.”

“You look amazing. I’m envious. You must have dropped twenty pounds.”

“Closer to ten.” I was still wearing my Addie’s dress, which I knew to be flattering. “I had to rearrange a lot of my body. I’m now addicted to exercise. If I don’t get two hours in at the gym every day, I don’t feel right.”

“It shows. And that’s in addition to hauling around meals at ‘your’ restaurant. I assume you bought Addie’s.”

I laughed. “No. In fact, I’m not even a full-fledged employee. I’m working as an intern.”

“Why?” Her face looked perplexed.

“Addie’s is amazing. They structure everything around a pleasant experience for the customer. They believe that if their employees are happy, the customers’ experience will be enhanced. For instance, they take great care to keep the weight of their fully loaded trays under twelve pounds so as not to have employee back injuries.”

“But. . .you must have walked away from eCommerce with 1.3 to 1.4 million dollars. Why work as a waitress? Why work at all?”

I smiled deeply. “Because I love it. I have a sense of purpose in trying to make our customers’ days brighter. I take pride in what I do.” Besides, my investments are bringing in about eighty thousand dollars a year, so I barely touch the principle.

“There’s a glow about you that suggests that someone at home is making you happy. Are you and David living together?”

I giggled again and pointed toward my ring.

“Married? I can’t believe I didn’t notice your ring! It’s gorgeous! Congratulations! I wish I’d known.”

“It was a small wedding,” I said. “Mostly family.”

“I’ll bet you were a beautiful bride.”

“David was incredibly handsome.”

“That’s a given.”

“Things haven’t changed that much. David, Jorge, and I have an apartment. It’s great.”

“Jorge? Wasn’t he in that band you were in before you started at eCommerce?”

I nodded. “We’ve gotten the band back together. It’s called Laredo. We’re starting to take off. We’re in a festival in Austin this weekend. Theres a label that wants to sign us – but we’re just not sure if that’s where we want to go. I’ll leave that up to David and Jorge.”

Katie laughed. “Can I change places with you?”

“Are things okay at eCommerce?” I asked with concern.

“Couldn’t be better.” She beamed. “I’m pregnant.”

I leaped up and hugged her. “Oh Katie, you and Josie will be great parents.”

“We want you to be the Godmother when the time comes.”

“Of course. Are you sure?”

She nodded. “You have more integrity in your little finger than most anyone else I know.” Here face clouded. “Things went to shit after you left.”

“Oh . . . I didn’t want that to happen.”

Katie bit her lip. “I didn’t get a wink of sleep the day you left. Word spread quickly why you were leaving. Jose and I spent all night debating whether I should resign. Jose did his best to convince me that both you and Mr. Jacobs did the right thing. Jose gets that ‘you’re an illegal immigrant’ look about once a week, which is rich because his family was here long before Texas became a state. He said that bigotry is a fact of life and the only way to get through life is to make allowances.”

“Jose was right. Mr. Jacobs had to consider all the stakeholders and make ‘allowances.’”

“‘Allowances’ – my sweet ass. I didn’t buy it. That next morning, I put my resignation letter on Mr. Jacob’s desk. He called me in. We talked it through. He pledged that just as soon as he could -- he would quit working with Plades. Inc. He managed to change my mind with that promise.”

I nodded. “You made the right decision.”

“It’s never sat right with me. I’ve hardly been able to stand what I see in the mirror. It’s taken ‘til now to get up the nerve to talk to ya.” She wiped a tear. “Six mid-level employees saw it like I did. They resigned in protest. There was no talking ‘em out of leaving.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m very happy. No one needed to do that. . .for my sake.”

“It was touch and go for a time. We survived, and then we flourished.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Really. . .that’s good.”

“Mr. Jacobs has restructured our business. He has vowed to never again be in a position where a client can dictate terms to us. We’ve diversified and a month ago we ended the relationship with Plades, Inc. We won’t miss them.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“It is. And the life you’ve carved out is also wonderful. Tell me, Courtney. Do you get a discount on sweet potato soup?”

I laughed. “It’s free to all employees. Free. . .like me. Strangely I’m much more inclined to have a BLT. I love the bacon! Mmmmmm.”

The End